


Rugburn

by colberry



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Bromance to Romance, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colberry/pseuds/colberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which hips bruise and the door's unlocked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rugburn

He has lips like rouge but eyes that bite and a tongue that leaves wicked burns along Reita’s collarbone.  It’s a scorching heat that has him clawing at Uruha’s shoulder blades – sinking in deep and gasps igniting; he’s _losing it_ and Uruha _knows_.  A harsh twist of sheets around his ankles, a searing kiss _goodbye-if-you-can-catch-me_ , and Uruha tugs Reita down, beckons with gleaming irises.  And Reita follows with a guttural purr, sliding his mouth along the taller man’s smirk.  He pants softly and Uruha leans in, captures the air and then his lips.  It’s a messy clash of teeth and growls – something that _hurts_ , but makes Reita bruise Uruha’s hips all the same because _fuck he needs this_ and Uruha _lets him even though he’s cradling him in his hand_ – smoke still lacing the younger’s tongue.  
  
The headboard’s cracking, snapping along with something inside Reita’s chest as Uruha grips the wood above and looks him in the eye, spread before him and _waiting_.  And _fuck_ , Reita doesn’t keep him waiting long, fingers digging further into those rolling hips so maybe he has some semblance of _control_ – but his spine is trembling and Uruha breathes out a low chuckle that’s a mere whimper away from _desperate_ _-now-please_.  It rattles him, makes him roughly grab onto dark-rooted locks, loom over this supine body he’s known for _years_ – faced grass stains and first-live aches with. 

He watches bowed lips part, the same ones that found his last month, held him against the brick wall outside the bar; lips that tasted like vodka and rushed promises.  And fuck if Reita didn’t arch into Uruha’s shaking hand – _because it had never gone this far; he didn’t want to lose all those years with a brash kiss, but maybe-maybe_ –  
  
– _yes_.  
  
Breathless mewls fall into his palms, a whispered plea, _“Akira – ”_  
  
 _are you ready for this_  
  
And Reita would rip the moon from god’s jaw and give it to him, but he’s afraid of heights ( _and he can’t let go now, not now_ ), so rather he murmurs half-declarations of _maybe-love_ against Uruha’s chest as they unravel.  Cigarettes still burning, ashtray overturned.  
  
Door unlocked.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ: September 9th, 2011


End file.
